We are inside soft, sweet and pure white despair. — Eiji Mikage, 空ろの箱と零のマリア 1
We are inside soft, sweet and pure white despair. — Eiji Mikage, 空ろの箱と零のマリア 1
We are inside soft, sweet and pure white despair. — Eiji Mikage, 空ろの箱と零のマリア 1
We are inside soft, sweet and pure white despair. — Eiji Mikage, 空ろの箱と零のマリア 1
We are inside soft, sweet and pure white despair. — Eiji Mikage, 空ろの箱と零のマリア 1
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We are inside soft, sweet and pure white despair.

— Eiji Mikage, 空ろの箱と零のマリア 1
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More “Melancholy” Quotes

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano! — William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
There's a special quality to the loneliness of dusk, a melancholy more brooding even than the night's. — Ed Gorman, Everybody's Somebody's Fool
I felt lonely, and in full possession of my loneliness. It was the first time I had owned anything of value. — Ben Greenman, What He's Poised to Do: Stories
In any case, there was only one tunnel, dark and lonely, mine, the tunnel in which I had spent my childhood, my youth, m — Ernesto Sabato, El túnel
There was one of his lonelinesses coming, one of those times when he walked the streets or sat, aimless and depressed, b — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
Perhaps she would have liked to confide all these things to someone. But how tell an undefinable uneasiness, variable as — Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary
There is a phase of melancholy—a phase that has sloughed all urgency—that seems to me always a revelation of that ancien — Quentin S. Crisp, The Little One: A Meditation
They wanted a list of symptoms: dizziness, blurred vision, palpitations. You could not say, it is a different life tryin — Jean Thompson, She Poured Out Her Heart
Broken MelodyBroken melody — tear sparkling in the eyeOf a woman loved…Please past,Jewel lost,A trampled dreamLips unkis — Millosh Gjergj Nikolla (Migjeni), Free Verse
Poor little place,' he murmured with a sigh.She heard him. He said the most melancholy things, but she noticed that dire — Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
I was willing to yield to nostalgia, that melancholy residue of desire. — Marguerite Yourcenar, Memoirs of Hadrian
Under the glass porte-cochère of a theatre Amory stood, watching the first great drops of rain splatter down and flatten — F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise